


Postpone the Funeral

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Ghost Chris Argent, Grim Reapers, M/M, Multi, Necromancer Peter Hale, Necromancy, Reaper Stiles Stilinski, Sex Magic, Stetopher Week, Stetopher Week 2017, Temporary Character Death, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Chris is a hunter who dies under mysterious circumstances. Peter's the necromancer who saves him. Stiles is the grim reaper who doesn't mind.





	Postpone the Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thrilled to share this one with you. :D

Something about the upcoming hunt doesn't feel right, and Chris has always relied on his instincts.

It's supposed to be a poltergeist, but the reports conflict with his understanding of poltergeists, and he's worried it's something else. Maybe something even more malevolent and harder to deal with.

He tells Allison he's got a bad feeling. She nods and starts asking questions.

"What could it be, then?"

"See, that's what I don't know," Chris tells her. He pours more coffee into her cup and slides the creamer toward her. 

"So go talk to someone who might know, or can at least give you an idea."

Chris's best bet is Peter Hale, if the man will even talk to him. Their families don't exactly have the best history. Not to mention Peter's powerfully dangerous. He makes the hairs on the back of Chris's neck stand up, and the man's smirk gives him ideas. Ones he'd rather not have.

Allison takes a sip of her coffee and tries hiding her smile behind the cup. "Should I go talk to the hot werewolf for you?" 

Chris gives her a stern look and ignores the swoop of his stomach. For chrissake, he's not a young man anymore. "He's not that attractive."

Allison's eyes dance like she just heard the funniest joke.

Chris sighs. "I'll pay him a visit before the hunt. See if he has any ideas."

"Be careful, Dad. And good luck on your hunt. Who're you taking with you?"

"Hodgins has a good head on his shoulders," Chris says.

Allison gives him a dry look. "One hunter? Take Miles, too."

"If it's just a poltergeist I'm going to look silly with an entourage."

"And if it's not, you'll have a better chance of beating whatever it is."

He loves how capable and clever his daughter has grown to be. "Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?"

" _Dad_ ," Allison says, smiling, her cheeks pink. "Only constantly."

He gets up from the table and kisses her forehead. "See you tonight."

"Okay. Love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Chris knows a lot of useless facts about Peter Hale. He listens when Peter's name is brought up in conversation, though it's mostly by the town gossips. So he knows he has a boyfriend, a man named Stiles who nobody has actually seen, but Peter speaks well of. He knows from Dr. Deaton that Peter has a gray cat named Beelzebub. According to Jeannie at the local cafe, Peter doesn't like coffee and tolerates their tea. Joseph, Chris's mailman, says Peter orders loose tea and is frequently waiting for a new shipment to clear customs. From the hardware store, Chris hears Peter has been renovating his cabin himself for the past four years, since he moved in.

He knows Peter was a wolf-witch before he was a necromancer. That in itself is dangerous. But death magic is something to be leery of, and Chris tries not to think too hard about what it might entail.

Peter knows things. The fabled Hale library may have burned in the fire ten years ago, but Peter was its keeper. He’d studied those books since he was a boy, or so Chris has heard. For all Chris knows, the dead tell him secrets.

Chris shudders at that idea.

As he drives up an access road to Peter's house, he realizes he's never been here before. He's talked to Peter a few times, but in town, and not with intent. Now he's deliberately seeking him out, and in his home. The necromancer's den.

And Peter probably already knows he's coming.

He doesn't have to knock when he gets to Peter's front door because the man greets him as soon as he's up the front steps.

"Christopher." Peter's voice is nearly a purr. It makes Chris's stomach swoop again and Peter smirks like he knows.

"May I come in?" Chris asks.

Peter smiles. It's dangerous. "Of course." He leads Chris inside and invites him to sit at a table in the kitchen. He pours water from a copper kettle into two squat cups. It gives Chris a chance to look around. The inside of the house — cabin, really — is rustic and homey. Herbs are tied to the exposed rafters, drying upside down. There are jars of… things Chris has no name for, though he's surprised that he gets a sense they're good. Chris feels rather at home, despite all the obvious trappings of magic.

On the table in front of him, there are several tarot cards laid out in a pattern he doesn't recognize. He does notice the Death card sits prominently at the center, though. 

"Did I interrupt your reading?" 

Peter's eyes flick to the cards and back before setting a cup in front of Chris. "Just finishing up."

"I'm not much of a tea drinker," Chris says. "I just had coffee."

"Humor me."

Chris eyes the cup dubiously.

"Afraid of poison?" Peter asks lightly, though Chris takes it as a challenge. He locks eyes with Peter and takes a sip. It's not bad, for tea.

Chris decides to get down to business. He takes another sip of tea and puts the cup down. "I need advice on a hunt."

Peter does not look impressed. "So you come to a werewolf?"

Chris ignores the barb. There's too much history between their families for it to end well if he responds. "I've been led to believe there's a poltergeist in the old Way house, but something about it doesn't sit right with me. Poltergeists aren't usually active in abandoned properties."

Peter frowns. "You're right. And my aunt was a Way. I know the house well. There was never any activity there when it was inhabited."

"Well, something hurt a couple kids last weekend. What they described _sounded_ just like a poltergeist."

"But you're not convinced. You think they called something up?" Peter asks.

"If not them, someone else. I'm just not sure how to go in if it's something like that."

"The mighty hunter is confounded?" Peter's lips twist mockingly. Chris doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or punch him. Maybe both.

Chris clenches his teeth, then relaxes. "What would you suggest?" 

"I think I have just the thing," Peter says, and moves away from the table toward the living area.

"What will it cost me?" Chris asks, getting up and following.

Peter opens a chest in the center of the room. Chris peers over his shoulder and Peter gives him a dry look. "Nosy." Then Peter pulls a knife in a sheath from the chest. "Here."

"What is it?" Chris asks.

Peter shrugs. "It will kill most nasties and banish a demon. Just… be careful with it."

"You're just giving this to me?" 

Peter laughs. "It's a loan. Don't worry, I'll get it back one way or another."

"That doesn't sound ominous," Chris grumbles.

Peter just laughs more. Chris finds it both creepy and arousing. He leaves before he can say anything stupid, nearly tripping over a gray cat on his way out. He thinks he can hear Peter laughing all the way back to his truck.

* * *

Miles and Hodgins are quiet when they enter the abandoned Way property behind Chris. They walk with surety, boots making next to no noise. They've been trained well, and Allison trusts them to have Chris's back.

Chris gets the feeling they're being watched. He unsheathes Peter's knife. The blade looks black in the dim and empty house, like it's absorbing the light. He doesn't know what the hell it is, but his instincts say it's powerful. That it gives him an advantage.

Miles and Hodgins light sage and sprinkle salt respectively. Chris turns slowly and begins reciting Saint Michael's prayer.

He doesn't get farther than 'be our protection' when he hears laughter. There's a slamming sound as Hodgins hits the floor, clotheslined by some invisible force. Miles swears and begins to ready a shotgun. Chris knows it will do no good.

"Show yourself!" he yells.

Then Miles gurgles behind him. Chris can't see but he knows the sound of a man choking on his own blood. It doesn’t take long for the sound to end. Miles is dead — Chris doesn't even have to check.

There's more laughter: mocking, echoing in the empty space. Chris closes his eyes and tries to sense where the thing is. It's not a poltergeist. It's not a ghost. If it's a demon, he hopes to hell his protections are enough to keep him from being possessed. Fuck. He can't think of that now.

His focus narrows down to the temperature in the room and the way the air moves. This thing is solid, or becoming solid. He can track that.

Something slaps the side of his head. He hears the taunt in the laughter, now.

Chris steadies his grip on the knife. "Okay, you bastard…"

Then he's grabbed from behind, spun around, and stabbed. He feels a blade slip between his ribs. He opens his eyes to see a teenaged boy smiling at him. He has normal eyes, a light hazel color. Not a demon, then. 

Chris is going to die. He can feel it. He's only got a split second to bring the knife up and stab it into the thing's neck. He doesn't know what the 'boy' is, doesn't know the creature's anatomy, but he's betting everything on Peter Hale's magic knife.

They both go down at the same time. He sees the light leave the thing's eyes, and then all he knows is pain.

He tastes blood. His breath is labored, his fingers feel nerveless as he impotently holds his hand over the wound. He thinks Hodgins is still alive, but the man must be out cold.

So Chris is alone when he dies.

* * *

Chris has always accepted death as inevitable, but he's smart and careful. He didn't think it would happen on a hunt. Sure, the possibility was always there, especially after Victoria died and he was grief-stricken enough to get sloppy. But Allison snapped him out of it, and he made it his mission in life to mentor his daughter, to make sure she became the leader she was destined to be.

He's thought about the afterlife sometimes. Hard not to in a world where necromancers and mediums exist, where ghosts and wraiths and all their various types were things Chris saw a lot of firsthand. He's never believed in anything bigger than himself, not beyond the Code and family, never saw the need to. His mother had been religious, but she died when he was ten and Gerard Argent's god was himself.

Chris never felt the need to get his soul saved, but he figured he was a better person than a lot of folks, so he hoped he wasn't headed to a bad afterlife. He's not sure what he's expecting, but it's not this.

Because when Chris stops breathing, when he can't move and his eyes are just staring at the ceiling of the abandoned house, absolutely _nothing happens_. He still feels his wound. He feels the pool of warm blood surrounding him on the hard wooden floor. But everything is silent, and he knows it's because his heart has stopped beating.

He's dead, and yet somehow… not? On a whim he concentrates on floating outside his body, but all that happens is he scares himself. His instincts tell him something's not right.

He wonders if he'll be stuck in his body while it rots. Or… maybe Allison will decide on cremation. Fuck, that's a terrifying thought.

He wonders if this happened to his sister when she was killed. Or his father. Or _Victoria_. God, no, please.

Time passes. He's not sure how long. He tries to stay strong, but fear keeps creeping in and what's there to be strong for? He's _dead_. He waits for something to happen. For Hodgins to wake up. For someone to notice they aren't back from their hunt.

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, but of course he can't answer it. More time passes. Shadows grow longer across the ceiling until the darkness creeps in. 

And then he hears something outside. A car. He hears the door open and footfalls entering the room.

"What the _fuck_ ," says Peter Hale, and for the first time ever, Chris is grateful for a necromancer's presence. "This isn't right." Peter walks around the room, stooping over Chris and the thing that killed him. He even takes Chris's pulse. "Hmm." Then he walks over to where Hodgins is lying. "Damn it." He seems more concerned with the unconscious man than the dead one. Which… Chris doesn't know what he was expecting, but maybe a little bit of feeling.

Chris can't see what he's doing, but apparently Peter pulls out a phone. 

"I've stumbled onto your kind of problem," Peter says. Chris is curious who the hell he might be talking to. "I've got a dead hunter with an intact soul and one that's still alive but soulless. And then there's the dead reaper… You heard me."

Chris is even more confused. He's never heard of a reaper before, doesn't know what kind of creature it is. He assumes he is the 'dead hunter', wonders what it means when Peter says Hodgins is 'soulless'.

"How soon can you get here? No one else is around." Strange.

Suddenly there's another presence, though there was nothing signalling his arrival. "You raaaang? Oh, shit, you weren't kidding." And then Chris feels a hand in his, pulling him up to stand. "Hey, sorry you had to stay like that for so long."

Chris blinks at the kid still holding his hand. He looks the same age as Allison and he’s got pretty amber eyes. He's dressed casually, in jeans and a t-shirt with a plaid flannel. He doesn't look like a powerful being who just pulled his soul out of his dead body, more like one of Allison's college friends.

He turns to look at himself, lying on the floor, utterly dead. It makes him shudder.

The kid's arms flail. "This is Theo. Shit. You killed Theo? How'd you manage that?"

"Introduce yourself, darling," Peter chides from across the room. Chris glances at him and sees he's wearing his customary smirk.

"Oh, right.. Manners. I'm Stiles," the kid says. "I'm a reaper. And usually I'd be taking you to go join the light, but right now I need to ask you some questions because this situation is definitely not normal and positively fucked up."

Chris nods. He shakes Stiles's hand automatically. "Chris Argent. Thank you for…. what you just did."

"I'm not a monster. I wouldn't leave you like that." Stiles turns to Peter. "You found them like this?"

Peter shrugs. "I felt a… wrongness. I guess that's how I'd describe it. I followed it. Chris was here on a hunt. I gave him that knife earlier today." He points with his chin. Chris looks down and sees his body… his hand… is still holding Peter's knife.

"Why?" Stiles asks. He sounds curious. 

Chris can't help but interrupt. "Wait, can you… what's a reaper and who is Theo?"

Stiles snorts. "You know, grim reaper? I'm one of Death's agents. There's a lot of us, we take souls of the dead, help them move on or… well, there's a lot to it. Theo was one of us, but I never liked him. He and I never got along. What the hell was he doing here?"

"Pretending to be a poltergeist," Chris says dryly. 

"What do you want to do with this one?" Peter asks. He's looking down at Hodgins.

Stiles shrugs. "Snap his neck, I guess."

"Wait!" Chris says. "He's a good man, don't just kill him. Why do you want to kill him?"

"He's already gone," Peter says, not unkindly. "His soul was reaped already."

Chris looks around. "So where is it? Can you put it back?"

Stiles laughs, though it sounds mirthless. "This is a nightmare."

"Can you put me back? Peter?" Chris looks at the necromancer, hope starting to bloom in his chest. "I can't leave Allison. She's already lost her mom."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Look at your body. You're dead. Stabbed in the chest. You look like you've been dead for hours now. There's no coming back from that."

"You're a fucking necromancer," Chris grits out.

"Oh, this is going to be fun." When Chris looks at Stiles, he sees the reaper smiling. "You're not going into the light, are you?"

"I'm not interested in any afterlife." 

"You almost sound like a werewolf with that growl," Peter says lightly. "But look at yourself. You're already dead, this _is_ your afterlife."

Chris is overwhelmed, and wonders if grief is a thing you can feel for yourself. He's certainly feeling something. "What about Miles?" He points to the dead hunter on the far side of the room. 

"Dead and reaped both," Stiles says. "He's the only normal thing about this."

Chris hears a snap and turns to see Hodgins's body slump lifeless to the floor. Peter looks unrepentant. Chris takes a hostile step forward, but Stiles stops him with a hand on his chest. 

"His soul already moved on. This is all we can do for him." Stiles actually sounds like he's sorry.

"Speaking of moving on," Peter says, stepping away from the body, "why don't we focus on Theo. What was he doing here?"

Stiles shakes his head. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

Peter sighs. "So I guess you'll be leaving."

Stiles steps close to the werewolf in an unmistakable way. It's obvious now the two are lovers, and Chris takes a moment to wonder how that works. Does Stiles even live in their world? Then Stiles is kissing Peter and Peter's bringing his hands around to cup his ass and pull him closer. Chris can't avert his eyes from the display though he knows he probably should. When Stiles pulls out of the kiss, Peter shoots Chris a knowing smile from over his lover's shoulder. 

Chris is chagrined to realize being dead doesn't mean he can't react to things. His cock is at half mast and his face is hot with embarrassment. Peter grins at him.

"I need to go," Stiles murmurs. He turns and nods at Chris. "Nice meeting you. Don't cause too many problems. I'll probably see you again soon."

"He can come home with me," Peter says.

"I need to see Allison."

"You know she can't see you, right? You're a disembodied spirit. Just a soul. The living can't see you," Peter tells him.

"You can see me," Chris points out.

Peter smiles with all his teeth. "I'm special that way."

Stiles rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath. Chris doesn't catch the words but the reaper's expression makes him snort anyway. Stiles looks at him and winks. It's strangely adorable. Goddammit.

Stiles disappears as suddenly as he appeared, without a sound or magical lightshow. Just gone. Chris blinks. "He do that often?"

Peter's smile twists into an annoyed expression, but there’s fondness in his eyes. "All the damn time."

* * *

Chris soon finds he can't move things. He can touch some things. He just can't exert his will over objects. He's perplexed. He can sit in the passenger seat of Peter's car, but he can't turn the bombastic classical music on the radio down. He's forced to listen to a symphony on the short drive to Peter's cabin. It's definitely not his favorite type of music, though he gets the distinct impression Peter already knows this and chose the station based on that information. Especially since Peter keeps glancing at him with a smug expression the more Chris scowls.

Once they get to the house, Peter walks inside and leaves Chris to scramble after him. Chris isn't used to scrambling. He doesn't like the way Peter makes him feel, but he puts it down to the dead thing.

Chris is _dead_. "So what happens to me now?"

Peter gets himself a bottle of water and shakes his head. "Right now? Nothing. But I'm going to bed. Have you noticed what time it is?"

"It's nearly morning," Chris mutters. It's true. Dawn is right around the corner. He doesn't feel tired, though.

"Exactly. You're welcome to rattle around the house while I sleep, but please don't tease the cat too badly. He won't forgive me for that."

"What am I supposed to do?" Chris asks.

Peter shrugs. "Contemplate the nature of the universe." Jesus, the man is frustrating. 

"Do you have a book or something I can read?"

"Christopher, unless you learn to affect matter, a book will do you no good because you won't be able to turn the pages. Now please, let me go to bed. I'm exhausted."

So Peter goes to bed and Chris settles into the man's sofa in the living area, ready to feel sorry for himself. He's dead, he can't read books, life sucks. Or the afterlife, anyway.

Peter's cat jumps up into his lap. He can't pet the cat, but the cat purrs anyway.

It's hard to stay depressed and demoralized in the face of a cat's loud purring.

* * *

Chris figures out he can move through walls. First he hears a familiar car pull up, then he runs to the front door. He tries to put his hand on the knob but his fist goes through it. Straight into the door. So he sucks it up and walks through it.

Cool trick.

"Allison?" Chris calls when he sees his daughter striding up the walk to Peter's house. She doesn't seem to hear him. She knocks on the door while Chris waves his hand in front of her face. "Allison, sweetheart?"

Peter doesn't answer the door right away. Chris walks back into the house, back to the bedroom, to see if the man is even awake. He isn't.

"Wake up," Chris says, and experimentally gives Peter's shoulder a push. Well he tries, but his hand goes right through skin and muscle and bone.

"Don't do that," Peter says without opening his eyes. "The cold is discomfiting."

"You can feel it? Can Allison feel it?" Chris asks. And then, "Allison's here, at your door. Get up and talk to her. Tell her what's going on."

Peter takes a deep breath, rolls onto his back, and scrubs at his face. "Fucking ghosts."

Allison knocks again, louder this time. "Peter Hale!" she yells, loud enough to hear throughout the cabin.

Peter sits up and it's only then that Chris realizes the man is naked, or at least close to it. The sheet pools low on his hips like an artist draped it there. Peter's body is… better than Chris had imagined, and he can’t help but admit he's imagined it.

He clears his throat when Peter stands and reveals he's totally nude. Chris averts his eyes out of sheer self-preservation. Then he turns and walks out of the bedroom, hoping Peter makes himself decent before he greets Allison.

Peter follows soon after, hastily dressed in jeans and a black v-neck. He probably only ran his hands through his hair to comb it, but it looks good, dammit. The whole package looks good, and by the smirk he gives Chris right before he opens the door, he knows it.

Peter greets her before Allison can even open her mouth. "I apologize for making you wait. I was sleeping in."

"Tell her I'm here," Chris demands. 

Allison doesn't look good. Her hair's tied back in a messy braid and her eyes look sunken. 

"May I come in?"

Peter opens the door wider and extends his arm in invitation. Allison walks in and her eyes flit from corner to corner, assessing. Then she turns around to face Peter before saying, "My father is dead and you're going to bring him back."

The look on her face promises an unspoken 'or else'. Peter seems unimpressed. 

"You may be the head of your little hunting clan, but you have no authority over me. You've been invited into my home as a courtesy, Ms. Argent, but I can just as easily uninvite you." Peter's voice is mild, but Chris hasn't forgotten how dangerous he can be, and he knows Allison hasn't either.

"I can give you money." She pulls a thick envelope out of her leather jacket. "Twenty thousand dollars. I can get more! This was just all the cash I had on hand."

"Allison, for chrissake, that's for business emergencies," Chris grumbles. He starts to reach out to touch her but Peter steps in his way, crowding into Allison's space. Chris doesn't know if it's intentional, to stop him from trying to touch, or if Peter's just pissed and attempting to unnerve her.

"I don't need your money." Peter cocks his head. "Have you forgotten the millions your family was forced to pay mine in restitution?"

Allison's lips thin but she doesn't step back. Chris notices her hand is at her belt, though. He knows her fingers are wrapped around a wolfsbane-infused knife concealed by her jacket. He's taught her well.

"What do you want, then?" Allison asks. "My father's body is out in the trunk. Do what you need to do, bring him back, and I'll give you… anything."

"Ally, don't be stupid," Chris hisses. He tries to ignore the part about his body.

Peter smiles. "You should know better than to promise that."

"I can't think of anything I wouldn't give to have my father back." Allison's voice has lost its strength. She still sounds determined, but the wobble of her bottom lip and the unshed tears in her eyes break Chris's heart.

Peter doesn't look affected outwardly, but he does soften his voice. "I can't bring Christopher back. Not right now, maybe not ever."

"Why not?" Allison asks, though Chris finds himself echoing her.

With a sigh, Peter feeds wood into the stove. "Would you like some tea? I'll put the kettle on."

Allison is holding herself too stiff. "I don't need tea, I need-"

"Drink some tea with me and I'll explain," Peter says.

Chris is full of questions and ready to demand answers. "Why haven't you told her about me yet?" 

Peter ignores him.

"Is it magic tea?" Allison moves slowly toward the table. Grudging, but interested despite herself. Chris can read her well.

Peter smiles. "I imbue all my teas with magic, but it's very subtle. I think you'd benefit from my jasmine blend."

Allison relents and sits down. "That doesn't sound too bad." She looks around more, this time taking in details instead of just exits and potential weapons. "This place is cozy."

Peter hums. "Your father was here yesterday, did you know? He drank some tea and then borrowed a knife of mine. I'd appreciate getting it back. It's very valuable."

Chris wonders why he didn't just take the knife when he was at the Way house.

"It wasn't a poltergeist," Allison says. "You must have suspected that if you gave him the knife." She pulls it out from the small of her back and lays it on the table. 

"He suspected it first," Peter says.

"So what was it? What killed my dad?" Allison's voice breaks on the last word.

"I wasn't there," Peter says. "I didn't see him die. What did the scene tell you?"

"Next to nothing," Allison says with a bitter, brittle laugh. "Whatever it was, it took out three good hunters, but not before my dad stabbed it with that knife. But I have no idea what it was. I have a body, though. I'm going to consult some specialists." She sighs. "But I'd hoped… I mean, when I came, I hoped you'd bring my dad back and he could just tell me what happened." Her eyes narrow. "So why can't you?"

"Yeah, Peter. Why can't you?" Chris mutters.

"If your father embraces the afterlife and moves on from this world, I can't do anything. He's gone. And even if his ghost sticks around…" Peter stops and looks directly at Chris. "Resurrection rituals are finicky. I can't just bring him back any old time." He busies himself at the stove, coming back with a cup of tea for Allison.

"What about the full moon? You're a wolf-witch, not just any necromancer." Maybe Allison thinks she can appeal to Peter's sense of vanity. Which is something Chris would have avoided, since Peter's smugly superior face makes Chris's stomach do that _thing_ and he avoids that as much as he can.

Sure enough, that look flashes across Peter's face and he smiles. Smugly. Chris wants to punch it right off. Peter says, "You flatter me. But sadly, I'm not all-powerful. My nature does give me a tie to the moon, but it would still be March before I could bring your father back. And that's only if he hasn't moved on."

"Dad wouldn't want to leave me," Allison says. She's right to be confident in that. Chris definitely doesn't want to move on. "And why March?"

"The Worm Moon," Peter says simply.

Allison puts her head in her hands. Chris knows what she's thinking. It's not even Christmas. March seems like an awfully long wait.

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Allison says. "What do I tell everyone?"

"I'd suggest postponing the funeral," Peter says.

Allison shoots him a dirty look. It makes Chris snort a laugh.

"You can leave the body with me," Peter says, and it sounds like he's relenting. "I'll put some preservation spells on it, make sure it stays fresh. Believe me, you don't want him coming back to a three month old corpse."

Allison laughs tiredly and wipes her eyes. "You know, I always thought he had a crush on you."

"Allison, for chrissake!" Chris exclaims. 

Peter looks entirely too amused. "Can't say I blame him," he says, and when Allison is looking elsewhere, gives Chris a wink.

"Bastard," Chris gripes, but Allison laughs again and this time it doesn't sound so pained.

"So you'll do it?" she asks. "You'll bring him back… in March?"

"If I can, yes," Peter says.

"I'll take it. What do you want in exchange?"

Chris glares at Peter, just daring him to ask for something precious or out of the question. Peter's too good at ignoring him.

"For you to keep it quiet," Peter says, strangely enough. "People know I'm a necromancer, yes. And Christopher won't be the first person I've brought back. But once people have tangible, living proof of my abilities, I'll never get another moment's rest. So tell everyone he's ill, or on an extended business trip, or whatever you like. Just don't spread it around that he's dead, so when he comes back it won't be a miracle. It'll just be expected."

Allison nods seriously. "I understand. Thank you, Mr. Hale."

"Peter."

Allison smiles weakly. "Peter, then. Call me Allison."

Peter holds his hand out and Allison takes it. Her eyes are full of tears, but now she's smiling. " _Thank_ you," she says, full of feeling.

There's a flash of discomfort on Peter's face, but it's gone again just as quickly. "You're welcome. Now show me the body and I'll move it to my workroom."

* * *

After Allison leaves, Chris watches Peter for awhile, not saying anything. Peter ignores him while he gathers herbs and oils from various bottles on his shelves and in medicine chests. There's chanting and incense as he walks around his worktable, which holds Chris's body.

Chris doesn't like looking at it. It's a chilling reminder of his current circumstances. Instead, he watches the necromancer work his craft. The watching is almost meditative. He lets Peter carry on with what he's doing, presumably preserving the body, and doesn't bother him. He'll ask his questions once Peter's finished.

But then someone's behind him and he spins around to see Stiles, dressed all in black. 

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "Nice to see you again."

Peter looks up, then back down at what he's doing. Apparently he's too busy for his lover. 

"I'm starving," Stiles announces. "C'mon, let's go get something to eat."

"I'm a ghost," Chris says blankly.

"Well, you can watch me eat, then." Stiles climbs the steps up into the rest of the cabin and Chris follows. Stiles moves around Peter's kitchen like he owns it. Well, of course he'd be familiar with it. "So he's bringing you back, huh?" 

Chris watches Stiles make a turkey sandwich. He nods. "In March."

"I know it's tough to wait, but there's not a whole lot he can do about that," Stiles says. He looks like he'll say something more, but then he bites his lip and shakes his head. 

"My daughter was here earlier," Chris says.

"Ah. Suck," Stiles says and yeah, that sums it up. "Let me guess: Peter didn't tell her you were here?"

"Not a word. Nothing about the reaper either." Chris sits at the kitchen table when Stiles does and watches him eat. It's strange, not feeling hunger.

"We don't exactly know what happened yet with Theo. As for you, your daughter needs to deal with your death on her own. If she knew your ghost was hanging around, she'd have all kinds of conflicting feelings. It's better for her to think you're in limbo, or whatever people believe about the afterlife."

"I wanted to reassure her, though. I wanted… god, I can't even hug her. I can't-" Chris cuts himself off before saying more. He's whining like a child. Peter is going to bring him back and everything will be fine. Just because he's lost his ability to touch people and things doesn't mean he needs to make a big deal about it.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Stiles lays a hand on his forearm and he can _feel_ it. He looks down at Stiles's long fingers with incomprehension… and hope. 

"It's going to be okay," Stiles says, and when he squeezes Chris's arm, Chris can only think how warm his hand is and how nice it is that Stiles is reassuring him.

Their eyes meet and Stiles is smiling. Chris clears his throat. "Thank you." Stiles nods and pulls his hand away. Chris tries not to show his disappointment. "Why can you touch me?"

"For the same reason you can see me. I'm a reaper. You're a ghost."

"I can't touch Peter," Chris says.

Stiles smirks. Damn him. 

"Not like that."

"I didn't say a word," Stiles says. He's so exasperating. And attractive. Damn them both. "You know, you only have to ask Peter to work a little magic and you can touch him."

Chris feels his face go hot. "It's not that I want to touch him, I just… can't."

"Hey," Stiles says. "Teasing aside, there's nothing wrong with needing some human contact. You're going to be incorporeal for over three months."

The thought of it makes Chris dread the upcoming time. He tries to hold himself stiff, but a shudder wracks his body anyway.

Stiles smirks. "Anytime you need a hug, man." It sounds like teasing again but Chris is convinced the offer is genuine.

Peter enters the kitchen then and goes straight to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You should do that thing where you can touch ghosts," Stiles tells him.

Peter frowns, but then he looks at Chris and his face clears. "Oh. I can do that."

"I don't need special treatment," Chris grumbles.

"It's better than feeling the cold of death anytime you pass by me," Peter says flippantly. "Give me a day or two."

"Did you find out anything?" Chris asks Stiles, mostly to change the subject.

Stiles is finishing up his sandwich. At least he has enough manners to chew his last bite before he talks. "Nope. Not talking shop anymore today. I need a shower, sex, and bed, in that order." He looks at Peter and waggles his eyebrows. It looks ridiculous. It also makes Chris smile.

It makes Peter smile as well. "As you wish."

"Aww, you big sap," Stiles says, standing up and giving Peter a kiss.

"Princess Bride reference?" Chris asks.

Stiles turns his grin on Chris, amber eyes bright. "Okay, _you_ I like."

Chris's stomach swoops. Goddammit.

* * *

Peter and Stiles are loud when they have sex. Chris discovers this, along with the fact that his libido is definitely not as dead as he is.

He rolls his eyes. Then he attempts to smother himself in the sofa cushions, momentarily forgetting he doesn't need to breathe.

The cat, Beelzebub, comes along and meows loudly at him. Chris picks his head out of the couch and sighs. "If you have any advice, I'd love to hear it."

Beelzebub sits down and begins bathing himself.

"Some help you are," Chris grumbles.

Stiles moans obscenely, Peter growls, and Chris decides to go for a walk outside.

* * *

Chris walks, but not far. He doesn't know what would happen if he got lost in the woods. Wander forever as a ghost? Could he get stuck somewhere and be fated to haunt it? He retraces his steps and ends up on Peter's porch swing. He doesn't know how long Peter and Stiles need, so he waits a long time before he goes back inside. The cat gives him a judging look.

"I'd rather not torture myself." 

Great, now he's explaining himself to a cat.

Peter walks out of his bedroom and closes the door behind himself. "He's asleep."

There are a lot of things Chris could say to that, but doesn't. He's still got some control over his actions, over his words. Even though being dead feels like the opposite. Like he has an extra dose of feelings. He's not used to it and he doesn't like it. He should probably ask Peter about it, but he's afraid of what answers the necromancer would give him.

"Do you think Allison's going to be okay?" he asks instead.

Peter goes to the kitchen and fills his kettle. "She's a smart girl, and she hasn't lost you entirely, at least not yet. On the one hand, she's seen your body. On the other, she has a plan, and a promise from me to bring you back if I can. So she's not likely to be grieving hard."

"She's used to having me there to lean on," Chris says. He doesn't know where all his worry is coming from.

"She's the head of the Argent clan," Peter points out. He puts the kettle on the stove, then starts fiddling with his teas. He pulls a jar down, then seems to think better of it before putting it back and pulling down another.

Peter only puts out one mug. It's small things like this that make Chris wince. He can't even have any disgusting tea.

"But she's always had me to advise her," Chris explains. "What if she needs me and I can't help?"

Peter turns to him. "Stop worrying so much. Your daughter is a capable hunter. She needs to learn to do this alone. The training wheels are off."

Chris sits down at the kitchen table. "Why don't I fall through the chairs?"

Peter smirks. "Magic." 

That deserves another eyeroll. "You're infuriating."

"My house is spirit-friendly. I've spelled the furniture. I do have ghostly guests other than you from time to time."

Chris looks around. "What else can I touch?"

"Is it really that big of a deal?" Peter sounds genuinely curious.

" _Yes_." Chris doesn't know how to explain just how important it is. He feels like he's not even a person, unable to interact with his surroundings. He can't drink disgusting tea. He can't pet the damn cat. He can't reach out and touch Peter, not that he wants to, but he doesn't even have the option. It's like all his choices are gone.

Maybe some of that shows on his face. Peter sits down and gives him a reassuring smile. "It's not forever."

"I know, and that's the only thing keeping me calm."

"I have an idea," Peter murmurs. "You should go with Stiles when he leaves."

Alarm is Chris's first reaction. "I don't want to move on. Why would I go with Stiles?"

But Peter shakes his head. "Not to go into the light, but… well, you'll see. Stiles can take you to the other realm. There, you can touch whatever you like."

"What's it like there?" Chris asks.

Peter smiles and shakes his head. "I only know what Stiles has told me. I can't go there. I'm a little too alive for that."

"Oh. Does that make things difficult, that you don't live together?" Chris asks.

Peter smirks. "We make it work."

"You both seem… happy," Chris says awkwardly. "But is Stiles… dead? You said the other realm isn't for the living."

"Well, sort of. Reapers have all died first, so Stiles is technically dead. But he's a reaper, so he can do a lot of things ghosts can't do. He can interact with the living, for example. He can make himself seen or invisible. I don't even know the extent of his powers, but he's not your average dead man."

"And the two of you just… work?"

Peter smiles. "Quite well."

Chris isn't jealous, not really. He's more keenly interested than anything else. He doesn't know what that means. He's never felt drawn to anybody like this before, except Victoria, and those circumstances were vastly different. Maybe this is a side effect of being dead.

Peter raises his eyebrows. "Anything else?"

He shakes his head. "I guess I'll just wait for Stiles to wake. Why does he need sleep, or… I saw him eat, too." He frowns. So much makes no sense.

"It's a side effect of spending so much time in the mortal world. As I understand it, other reapers don't eat or sleep here, but in their own realm." Peter shakes his head. "I don't get it either, to be honest." He drains his cup and looks into the leaves. His eyebrows raise but he doesn't otherwise comment on what he sees. 

Chris doesn't ask.

* * *

When Stiles wakes and Peter suggests he take Chris to the other realm, Stiles calls a cab.

"What taxi service comes out to the woods?" Chris asks.

Stiles smirks. "A special one."

Chris sees what he means when a cab pulls up not five minutes later. _Charon Taxi_ is painted on the doors. Out the window, Chris sees Peter wave goodbye and then walk back into his house.

The driver… well, Chris tries not to look too closely. Stiles seems comfortable with it, dutifully pays in gold coins before they take off, and acts like a hooded figure in black is a normal cabbie to have. _He doesn't have a face!_ Chris can't help but think. But he keeps calm. Or at least he thinks so. Maybe he doesn't. Stiles grabs his hand and holds it. 

"It's okay, just breathe," Stiles whispers.

Chris has faced much worse than this before. He's a seasoned hunter. He can't deny Stiles's hand in his doesn't make him feel a little better, though. Just that touch seems to ground him.

"So where are we going?" Chris asks, mostly to get his mind off the faceless taxi driver.

Stiles squeezes his hand, and Chris is glad he hasn't pulled away. "First, a diner in the other realm. I'm meeting up with some friends who knew Theo. Then… I don't know yet."

"Decisive plan of action."

Stiles grins. "Hmm. I do like them snarky."

To Chris's chagrin, he feels his face heating. Which Stiles definitely notices since his grin widens.

The cab is driving. Outside the windows, Chris sees only dark, swirling gray mist. He shivers. He knows they're somewhere he's never been, could never go before he died. 

"It's okay," Stiles murmurs, still holding tight to Chris's hand.

And then there's light again. Not sunlight, but not… not specifically artificial light, either. Just light. And streets.

Then the cab is parking and Stiles is pulling Chris out of the vehicle. "C'mon, we're here."

'Here' is a diner. It looks brand new, shiny chrome and bright red paint, but mid-twentieth century in style. The sign itself is unreadable. It seems to shift from one name to another, all of them feeling familiar, but when the next name comes up, Chris forgets the last. He wonders if it's a ghost of all the diners that have ever been. That thought seems… ridiculous, really. But Chris doesn't feel he's too far off.

Inside is black and white tile and red booths. There's a soda bar. The lighted jukebox is playing 'Don't Fear the Reaper'. 

"The music is a little on the nose, don't you think?" Chris murmurs.

Stiles shrugs. "What do you hear?"

And Chris realizes the song must be like the sign. Or maybe some other kind of magic. The otherworldly feel of the place has him feeling uncomfortable, on his guard.

His stomach rumbles for the first time in days.

Stiles laughs. "Let's get you something to eat. This place has the best curly fries." 

Chris slides into a booth and Stiles sits beside him. There was space in front of them but…

"Leaving room for friends," Stiles explains.

The waitress is wearing a black apron and frilly cap. Her lipstick matches the vinyl booths and her nametag says 'Erica'. "Your usual, Stiles?"

"Yeah, and the same for my friend."

Erica eyes Chris appreciatively. "Gorgeous friend. You gonna introduce us?"

Stiles smirks. "He's taken."

"I am?" Chris asks.

Erica laughs. "I think Stiles is calling dibs."

Chris feels his face heat again. What the fuck? Erica walks away, swaying her hips. It's mesmerizing to watch. Then she looks over her shoulder and winks at him.

"Ahem."

Chris turns back to Stiles and raises his eyebrows. "What's this about dibs? You have a boyfriend."

Stiles doesn't look concerned. "Oh, don't worry. Peter wants you, too."

"Peter can't even touch me." He very carefully keeps from sounding too put out.

Stiles looks a little too knowing. "We'll fix that."

Chris opens his mouth to say something, but he's not sure what. Thankfully, they're interrupted. A man and a woman, both young-looking, slide into the booth in front of them. Chris looks them over with a wary eye.

"Great, you're here," Stiles says, grinning. "Chris, these are my friends Scott and Lydia. Guys, this is Chris Argent. He's the one Theo killed but didn't reap."

Scott's face does something complicated as he looks at Chris. "That's awful. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Lydia hums but doesn't say anything yet. Chris gets the feeling she wants to observe before adding to the conversation.

"So what do you need?" Scott asks.

Stiles leans forward. He speaks quietly. "I need to find out just what the hell Theo was doing. If he did it before. Why he was doing it to begin with."

"Theo was a creep," Lydia says. She flips her hair from her face and Chris notices how striking she is. "He probably did it for fun. I wouldn't be surprised, anyway."

Then Erica brings Chris and Stiles their food: giant burgers, chocolate shakes, and curly fries.

"I can still leave if I eat the food, right?" Chris asks. His mouth is watering at the sight of his plate, but he doesn't want to play the part of Persephone here with the food.

Stiles huffs a laugh and leans into him. "You're good. I may want to keep you around, but I wouldn't trick you like that."

Scott looks somewhat shocked but Lydia smirks. She says, "Does Peter know you're adopting a stray?"

Stiles smirks right back. "Peter approves."

Chris finds himself uncomfortable again. "Okay, we don't need to talk about this right now."

"If ever," Scott grumbles. Stiles seems used to ignoring him.

Chris clears his throat. "So, are you all reapers, then?"

Scott shakes his head and grins. Stiles elbows him and says, "Wait til you hear this story. Okay, so Scott was in school to be a vet, right?"

Lydia flags Erica down and orders a cherry soda float. Erica says, "Oh, is it story time?"

"It's not much of a story but it's mine, so let me tell it," Scott laughs. "And can I have a western omelet?"

Chris sits back against the vinyl seat and smiles. He's starting to feel more comfortable here. From time to time, Stiles pats him on the leg like he's reassuring himself Chris is still there. The touch, the ability to eat a delicious burger… it's nice. 

"Like Stiles said, when I was alive I wanted to be a veterinarian," Scott says, and Chris wonders how long it takes to say things like that so casually. Will Chris ever be able to say 'when I was alive' like that, or…

Well, he won't have to. Peter will bring him back.

"I got my undergrad and got into veterinary college. I was two years in when I died." Scott doesn't say how he died, and no one asks him. The others probably know, of course, but Chris also gets the feeling they wouldn't ask if they didn't, either. Death is probably a private thing, and possibly traumatic. "So I get reaped by this one, here." He hooks his thumb toward Stiles.

Stiles grins. "Aren't you glad it was me? Imagine how boring your afterlife would be if we hadn't become bros!"

Scott gives Stiles a light punch and Stiles puts on being hurt.

"Boys, quit playing around and just tell the story," Lydia says. Erica appears with their orders and Lydia immediately takes a sip of her float. She smiles at Erica as the waitress walks back behind the counter.

"I'm starving," Scott says, then proceeds to tell the rest of the story between bites of his eggs. "Okay, so going into the light didn't feel right to me, and Stiles seemed pretty cool. He brought me here to the otherworld and was like, 'Okay, what can you do?'"

Lydia chuckles but doesn't interrupt. Stiles is grinning like this is the funniest story he's ever heard.

"So I'm like, 'Well, I really like animals so you got any thestrals, like in Harry Potter? Or maybe Cerberus needs a checkup.'"

Stiles has finished his burger and fries and is nursing his shake. Chris takes a sip of his own and is blown away by how good it is.

Scott continues, "So Stiles is like, 'Well, we've got hellhounds.' And okay, _hellhound_ sounded a little scary, but I've worked with a lot of different animals. And maybe they were just weird dogs or something, I was thinking."

At that, Lydia starts laughing and covers her face.

Chris frowns. "Aren't hellhounds just another type of shifter, like werewolves?"

Stiles speaks up. "Those are in the living world, that's the only way they can affect anything, because they're inhabiting a living body. It sounds like possession but it's more of a cohabiting kind of thing. Here, they're more like…" He trails off and looks at Scott.

"Weird dogs, like I said," Scott says. "I mean, now that I've worked with them for awhile and know them well, they aren't as scary. Sure, they're flaming harbingers of death and destruction, but that's not their fault, it's just their nature."

Stiles tips his head back and laughs. "You sure have changed your tune. The first time you saw one you nearly shit your pants and ran the other direction."

"Maybe because nobody _warned_ me," Scott says, narrowing his eyes at Stiles.

"It was so much funnier with you not expecting it." Stiles is a little bit of an assholoe, Chris thinks. It must be why he and Peter get along so well.

"So you’re a vet for hellhounds?" 

Scott shrugs. "Mostly, but some people have pets around here and I take care of them, too. There's no real sickness in the otherworld, but keeping animals happy and making sure they're kept in good condition is universal. It keeps me busy and I love it. Plus, the previous vet in this realm really wanted to move on to his next life, so it worked out. Serendipity."

Chris can't help his curiosity. "What kinds of pets can you keep here?"

"Dead ones," Lydia says, dry as a bone. 

"And supernatural ones, like… don't front, Lydia. You've got a pooka."

Chris blinks. "A… ghost horse?"

Lydia smiles. "Not just a horse. Pookas are shapeshifters. Sometimes Prada's a bunny, sometimes a goat."

"Are you a reaper?" Chris asks her.

"I used to be," Lydia says. "But I went back to school and got a degree in psychology. Now I'm a therapist for people who suffered traumatic deaths. I still work with the reapers, but I'm not doing any actual reaping anymore unless they get shorthanded."

Chris nods slowly. "The therapy must keep you busy."

"It's fulfilling work," Lydia says with a small smile.

Chris wonders what he could possibly do in this world if he was stuck here. Hunting is out of the question. "Is there law enforcement of some kind here?"

 

Stiles nods. "Of a sort. They're pretty lazy, though. Like… I tried talking to them about Theo, but once they heard he was dead, they decided to close the case. Like, he's not a problem anymore so that's that." He blows out a frustrated breath. 

Lydia sighs and looks through her bag. Then she pulls out two file folders and slides them over to Stiles. One is much thicker than the other. "Here. Theo's work records and receipts for every soul he reaped. And the automatic receipts, which were much harder to get ahold of, so I expect a favor in return. I'm not sure what it'll be yet, but just keep in mind I could get fired for this."

Stiles picks up the thicker file. Chris reads over his shoulder. _Department of Automagical Records_ is emblazoned on the folder cover. _Do Not Remove From Department Library_. Stiles blinks and looks up. "Thanks, Lyds."

Lydia sniffs and looks away. "You'll be the one sneaking them back in once you're finished."

* * *

"Did you want to see anything else while we're here?" Stiles asks Chris as they're leaving the diner. 

"I'm not sure what there is to see. And… maybe not. The diner was fine but I…" Chris trails off, struggling to put his feelings into words.

Stiles nods. "I can see where it'd be overwhelming." And yes. That. "I have to stop by my place, and then we can go back to Peter's."

And as much as Chris would like to return to the somewhat familiar, he is curious about Stiles, and what a place the reaper lived in would look like. So he nods.

"We'll walk. Get some fake sunshine and manufactured air," Stiles says with a wink.

"Is it?" Chris asks, squinting up into the 'sunlight'. "Fake, I mean."

Stiles shrugs. "I'm not really sure, to be honest. But it never really feels real, you know? Everything here is off, compared to the living world. People live and work here and act like it's fine, but I've never been a hundred percent comfortable with it."

Chris wants to ask Stiles when he died, how long he's felt this way. But the words stick in his throat. It feels weird to ask, too personal. Plus he doesn't want to think of Stiles dying. He's so alive.

Stiles's place is in a massive apartment building. At least it's massive once they walk into the lobby. From the outside, the building is relatively small. 

"Go ahead and say it," Stiles with a mischievous smile. "I'm a Doctor Who fan."

Chris fights his grin. "It's bigger on the inside," he says in his driest voice.

Stiles laughs and takes his hand to pull him into the elevator. When he lets go to push the floor button, Chris feels the loss. He doesn't know why he aches like this, for simple touch and kindness. He's rarely felt the lack before, but since he died it's like all his emotions are turned up. Larger than they were in life.

He wants to ask Stiles about it, but he's afraid. Fear has never held him back in his life before this, beyond the healthy kind that went along with being a hunter. But he's always been able to button everything up, tie it tight, keep his feelings to himself. 

"We're here," Stiles says as the elevator opens onto the seventh floor. 

"You have the whole floor?" Chris asks, boggled.

Stiles shrugs. "Yeah, well, when time and space bend to the will of the planners, they're able to give everybody a nice space of their own." The space is better than nice, but it's mostly barren. Stiles catches Chris looking around with a frown and says, "I'm not here a lot."

Which makes Chris think of Peter, and how perfect he and Stiles seem together. "You and Peter have a good thing, then?"

Stiles's eyes soften and his smile is what Chris would call lovestruck. "We're pretty awesome together. Which is why I think you should let us take you out."

"Take me out?" Chris asks before his brain catches up with his mouth.

Stiles looks suddenly… shy, almost. Nervous. "I guess you've caught on that we, um. We like you. But it's not just a sex thing. We want to date you."

"You barely know me," is all Chris can think to say. There's a sofa that looks comfortable so he sits and motions Stiles to do the same.

"Peter's had a thing for you for ages. You think I'm not going to check up on the guy my boyfriend has a crush on?"

Chris blinks. "What does that mean?"

Stiles blushes. It's gorgeous the way his cheeks go pink when he's embarrassed. "Not stalking! I mean, I guess a little bit, I suppose you might see it like that since I watched you when you couldn't see me. Don't get mad!"

"I'm not mad," Chris says. "Surprised, more like. You didn't act like you knew me when we met."

Stiles shakes his head, but he's smiling. "You just died, dude. Not exactly the time to come out and tell you I've been fantasizing about your beard-burn on my skin."

Chris nearly chokes at the mental image. "No, I guess not."

"But I have been. Can I…" Stiles trails off and holds up a hand close to Chris's face. It takes a moment to figure out what Stiles is asking, but then he nods. Stiles immediately runs his fingers down Chris's cheek to his chin, feeling his beard. "It's softer than it looks."

Chris closes his eyes at the touch. It feels so intimate. 

"Can I kiss you?" Stiles whispers. As if speaking aloud will break the moment. 

Chris opens his eyes and searches Stiles's face. He seems so earnest, and isn't making a move until Chris says it's okay. And he looks like Chris feels — badly in need of kissing.

So Chris leans in and captures Stiles's mouth. It's soft, and gentle, but the noise Stiles makes is pure sex. When Chris pulls back again, there's a dumb, shattered look on Stiles's face and Chris can't help but feel a little proud.

* * *

They bring the files back to Peter's. Stiles explains what they are, his hands flailing around and nearly knocking the cat off the sofa. It makes Chris smile. 

"And," Stiles says after he's done explaining about the 'automagical' reaping receipts, "I kissed him."

Chris stills as Peter's eyes go straight to him. "Is that a fact," Peter purrs. Chris swallows hard. Shit. Peter doesn't look pleased. "Well, that's one thing we can't have." He stalks closer to Chris and Chris backs up a step, but Peter's quicker. He reaches out and takes Chris's wrist in his hand. "I haven't had my chance, after all."

"You can touch me?" Chris asks, feeling numb all over except where Peter's touching him. There it feels like heat. Electricity.

"And more," Peter says, leaning in. He closes his eyes and Peter's mouth is on his, much less gentle than his kiss with Stiles had been. Peter's kiss is full of something that's been pent up, and Chris brings his hands up to his shoulders, happy to find out he can touch back. 

"Holy shit," Stiles says. "That's hot."

Chris blinks and comes back to earth when Peter pulls away. Yes, he's got to agree with Stiles.

Peter's smirking, though the effect is slightly ruined by the hunger and longing still visible in his eyes. Chris has more than half the inclination to pull him back in for another kiss.

"I'm guess I know what it feels to be the odd one out now," Stiles says, slightly breathless. He's not sitting on the couch any longer but standing beside them, watching everything unfold. Peter doesn't let him watch for long. He pulls him in and gives him a hard but heartfelt kiss. Stiles groans and pulls away with a grin. "Okay then."

"How can we touch?" Chris asks.

"A little potion I whipped up while the two of you were off galavanting around the otherworld." Peter says it so offhandedly that Chris is almost convinced it was no big deal. But then Stiles grins wider and throws his arms around Peter.

"You're amazing," he says.

Peter rolls his eyes but they're sparkling with love. "Well, there's that, too."

Chris reaches out, touches Peter's shoulder. "Thank you."

Peter smiles back knowingly.

Stiles pulls away from them both and starts making piles on the coffee table. Chris isn't sure what he's doing at first, but then he realizes he's matching up work orders with receipts from the thicker folder.

It takes some time. There are a lot of orders to match up with receipts, but there seem to be many more receipts.

"This can't be right," Stiles mutters. He looks at Peter. "Theo reaped at least fifty people he wasn't assigned to."

"What are you thinking?" Peter asks.

Stiles looks troubled. His brows are knit and he's chewing his thumbnail. "I… I think he was a serial killer, and nobody ever caught on."

Peter looks disturbed. Something turns over in Chris's gut.

"And nobody caught on?" Chris asks.

"Apparently not," Peter murmurs.

"A couple of these receipts go back ten years," Stiles says. "As long as he was reaping, he was doing this, too. And no one knew. How could no one realize what he was doing?" 

"Stiles," Peter says, sitting beside him on the sofa and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Getting upset over this will accomplish nothing."

"It's a lot of damn dead people, Peter," Stiles says. "If Chris hadn't killed him, we still wouldn't know. Theo would still be getting away with killing people whose time wasn't up."

"What are you going to do about it, then?" Chris asks. "Is there anything?"

Stiles leans down and holds his head in his hands. "These people are gone, I can't help them. I can't… I mean, even if I tracked down everyone and made sure they got to the light, I don't know…"

"Sweetheart, that isn't your responsibility," Peter murmurs.

"I just feel so fucking _helpless_." Stiles picks his head up and looks at Peter. There's a desperate, pleading quality in his gaze and Chris feels like he's intruding on a vulnerable moment. "What can I even do?"

"Help Christopher," Peter says.

Stiles turns his gaze on Chris and it's still so open. Chris doesn't know what to do with that.

"You've been helping me," Chris says. Because he wants Stiles to know that.

"He lured you out, played with you, and killed you," Stiles says. "And now you're dead and I can't do anything to help you out with that… Wait." His eyes go big and then he looks at Peter. "Wait a minute, we don't have to wait until the Worm Moon."

Chris stands up straight. "We don't?"

"There is one other way," Peter says slowly. "But I'm not sure if we could do that."

"Hey, I was a Spark before I died," Stiles says. "You're a wolf-witch _and_ a necromancer. Of course we can do it!"

"Somebody want to fill me in?" Chris asks, though he's getting excited. "Can you really bring me back?"

The smile playing around Peter's lips is seductive and teasing. "Sex magic."

"Yes!" Stiles crows. "We can totally bring you back!"

"Wait, sex? Who has to have sex?" Chris asks, because this is crucial information he feels he should have, right this second.

Stiles's cheeks are red but his eyes shine with excitement. "All three of us."

"And I wouldn't have to wait?" Chris asks.

Peter smirks. "We could do it tonight. I have everything I need. I've already taken the potion that allows me to touch spirits. We're in business, as they say."

"Alright!" Stiles's enthusiasm is amusing. "Let's do this!"

Chris smiles, but he can't help but feel nervous. He hasn't had sex in a long time. Even longer since he did it with a man. He's never had a threesome except for one drunken fumbling when he was much younger. As much as he's attracted to Peter and Stiles, he doesn't know how to speak up to let them know how he feels.

Some of what he's feeling must show on his face, though.

"Hey," Peter says, and touches his arm. "Stiles, tone it down a little. Chris is anxious."

Stiles takes a good long look at Chris. "It doesn't have to be tonight." The previous excitement is gone, and in its place is concern. "I realize jumping into bed with us is a big step. We haven't even been on a date yet."

Chris huffs and runs a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't even know how to go about…" He makes his best helpless gesture, hoping that tells them what he's feeling.

"The ritual can only be done a certain way," Peter says. "I think it would help if we went over it together, so you'd have a better idea of what's being asked of you."

And that, _that_ Chris can do. All he needs is a plan of action and Peter seems to understand that. The attentiveness makes Peter so much more attractive, and he was already pretty fucking attractive as it is.

Then Stiles takes Chris's hand and Chris is reminded that the reaper is there, and attractive as fuck too. "We'll get you through this."

"You serious about that date?" Chris asks him.

Stiles's grin lights up his whole face. "Just wait. We're gonna woo the fuck outta you."

"Oh, there's wooing now?" Chris asks, looking at Peter. Peter smiles and nods.

Stiles sputters. "What kind of heathens do you think we are? Of course there's wooing. Or there will be, once you get your body back. Though technically I've already started, with the curly fries and chocolate shake. Don't tell me that didn't woo you at least a little."

"They were pretty good," Chris tells Peter. 

Peter leans in and kisses him. It doesn't last long, but there's a lot of intent behind it. Peter's telling Chris he'll woo him, too.

It's not that he needs it, and he sure wasn't expecting it. But all in all, Chris is feeling pretty damn special.

* * *

"It would be easier on you if we did this in my ritual space," Peter is saying. He's sitting at the kitchen table, looking into Stiles's tea cup, presumably reading the leaves. He seems to do it automatically. "You'll be pulled back into your body-"

Chris thought this would be obvious. He crosses his arms as he leans against the cabinets. "No."

Stiles says nothing from the living room, where he's putting reaping receipts into manageable order. Surely he understands, if Peter doesn't. 

Peter frowns. Then his lips quirk. "Are you… nervous? About fucking in front of yourself?"

"It's. A. Corpse. I'm not fucking in a room with a dead body. I have to draw the line somewhere." Chris can't believe this is hard to understand. It seems pretty simple to him.

Stiles walks into the kitchen and stands next to Chris. He leans into him, and it's a comfort Chris didn't realize he needed. "It'll be more comfortable in bed," he points out. Bless him. "We can do that, right?"

Chris gestures to Stiles. "See? Thank you."

"You're a ghost and it's _your_ body. I can't believe you're this squeamish." Peter huffs and then nods. He puts Stiles's cup down. "But okay. We can do it your way. Just keep in mind it'll be uncomfortable being pulled back into your body, and going farther than you have to is ridiculous."

"But I'll be alive." Chris is holding on to this one truth.

Peter rolls his eyes and smiles fondly. "Yes, that is the point of this endeavor."

"Explain the logistics to us?" Stiles asks. "Because I know the basics but not how this particular ritual needs to go, and I'm sure Chris wants to know, too."

"I was just getting to that." Peter pulls a pen out of nowhere and starts doodling on a paper napkin. "We need to whip up enough life energy to heal his body as well as pop his soul back into it. It won't be one big bang, so to speak, but something we need to build."

"So no simultaneous orgasms? That's a relief," Stiles mutters. "That's… a little difficult."

Peter shrugs. "Cock rings exist for a reason, sweetheart." Stiles's face goes a little pink and Peter smirks. "Other reasons. And your particular… talents may come in handy here. Think you can orgasm more than once for us?"

Stiles swallows audibly and turns even pinker. "Yep. Yes. Definitely. You know I can and you're just trying to embarrass me in front of Chris."

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," Peter says. "Right, Christopher?"

Chris leans in and kisses one of Stiles's flushed cheeks. "Nothing at all." 

"God, your voice is going to kill me," Stiles mutters.

And it's not that no one has said he has a sexy voice before. They have. He knows it's attractive. But knowing it affects Stiles in particular gives Chris a thrill.

"You'll need to be between us," Peter says, and it takes a moment for Chris to realize who he's talking to.

"Me?" Chris asks. "So…"

"You'll fuck Stiles while I fuck you," Peter says, and despite his smile, Chris notices he looks a little apprehensive. About… Chris's reaction?

"That sounds- I mean, yes. I would like that," Chris says. He hasn't bottomed since he was in his early twenties, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten how enjoyable it can be. "It's been awhile. But yes."

Peter relaxes into a true smile. "We'll take care of you."

"Damn right we will," Stiles says, leaning his whole body into Chris's. Chris wraps an arm around him and kisses the corner of his pink lips.

"This is gonna be so great," Stiles says gleefully.

* * *

They start with Peter making his entire bedroom a ritual space. "So that everything that happens is drawn into the spell," he explains. Chris doesn't know what exactly Peter's doing when he paces the length and breadth of his room with a burning herb packet, and Stiles doesn't seem to care.

Stiles tugs on Chris's sleeve. "Come with me."

"What are we doing?"

Stiles takes a breath. "I know this has you a little… anxious. Uncomfortable. You don't know us that well and it's going to be hard for you to relax. If you weren't a ghost I'd be plying you with wine right about now."

"Scotch sounds pretty good." Chris sits down on the sofa and sighs.

Stiles smiles. "Yeah. But there are other ways to get you loosened up and ready." And then he straddles Chris's lap. "Let's make out."

Stiles kisses like he's making an important point. Like there's a debate and Stiles is determined to prove something. Chris gentles him, runs his hands down his shoulders and back. Stiles moans and lets Chris take over.

They make out for a few minutes, and then Stiles starts tugging at Chris's shirt. "C'mon, get out of this."

"You first." Chris pulls Stiles's t-shirt off over his head. Stiles gives him a grin and then goes for Chris's.

Then they're naked from the waist up and Chris forgot somewhere along the way just how good skin on skin felt. Stiles looks like he has something else to say, but then he goes back to kissing Chris instead.

It gets slow. Sensual. Their mouths make wet, slick noises together, and Chris can't keep himself from sucking on Stiles's lower lip. It's plump and swollen now, darker than he's ever seen it. Stiles's eyes are dark, too, pupils dilated with desire.

Chris can feel his cock pressing against his stomach. Stiles starts to rock slowly, deliberately. Then he catches himself and groans. "Damn, I'd love to just rub off on you right now. But we gotta save the orgasms."

Chris reaches up and thumbs over Stiles's cheekbone. "There are other things we can do."

The moment is broken when Peter calls for them to come into the bedroom. "It's time."

And Chris realizes Stiles's plan worked. He's much more loose, much more relaxed. He's looking forward to this.

* * *

In the bedroom, Peter's nude in candlelight. While Chris and Stiles have their shirts off, it's not the same thing. Peter walks around his bed like he has nothing to hide, and Chris can't help his appreciative gaze. He even likes Peter's calves, and the backs of his knees. Chris blinks and feels his face go hot when he realizes he's been ogling.

Well, what does Peter expect, putting that gorgeous body on display?

Behind Chris, Stiles snorts. "You're such an exhibitionist."

"Werewolf, darling." Peter's eyes dance when he looks over at Chris. "Never had much modesty, to be honest."

"Ain't that the truth," Stiles mutters. Then he claps his hands loudly and grins. "Let's get started!"

Chris laughs again at his eagerness. His laugh is cut off by an indrawn breath when Stiles takes off the rest of his clothes, though. Stiles is every bit as beautiful as Peter, though in a different way. His skin is younger, more supple. And Chris was right, the moles are all over. He has more hair on his chest than Peter, though it's still sparse. 

At the moment, Peter's chest bears a rune marking, one Chris isn't familiar with. It looks like a zigzag or stylized lightning. Chris raises his eyebrows. "Do the rest of us need to be painted?"

Peter shakes his head. "Just me. It identifies me as the man in charge, basically. The one to direct the ritual."

"Kinky," Stiles quips. "So tell us what to do, oh great director."

Peter saunters over to them and Chris reminds himself this will be good; it's sex with two attractive men, and it'll give him his life back. There's absolutely no downside here. And when Peter leans in and kisses him, filthy and full of promise, his nerves melt away again.

Apparently the trick is to keep kissing.

"Strip," Peter tells him. "I'm going to get Stiles ready and make him come for us." Stiles gets on the bed and tosses Peter a bottle of lube, which he catches easily with one hand. "Go for it."

Chris sits on the edge of the bed and takes his boots off, then his socks. It's funny to think about how they're not physical clothes; he's wearing what he died in. He shakes that thought off and unbuttons his jeans. Meanwhile, Peter's kissing Stiles and has his hand between his legs. It's definitely not the time to be thinking about what's real and what's not. 

The slick, wet sound of kissing leads into Stiles moaning. Chris takes his jeans off as Peter slides down Stiles's body and takes his cock into his mouth.

"Yeah, not gonna last long." Stiles gasps and throws his head back. They look beautiful together. Chris crawls up the bed and kisses Stiles's throat. He takes one of his hands. Stiles squeezes it and smiles feverishly. Peter is stretching him for Chris's cock and that's so hot. Chris says so and Stiles moans. "I'm so close."

Peter moans around him and Chris kisses Stiles full on the mouth. 

"Go ahead," Chris whispers, because he knows Stiles needs to come for the ritual, to get everything going, but also because Chris wants to see Stiles's face. He wants to be right there when he orgasms.

Stiles whines and squeezes Chris's hand. "Oh-" is cut off, half choked, and Chris doesn't have to see anything else to know that's it. 

The orgasm seems to light the room as the flames of the candles jump higher and brighter. Stiles is glorious in his pleasure, bathed in golden candlelight. Chris has to kiss him again, quick and sweet.

Peter sits back, most likely admiring his work. Chris leans over and kisses him, too. He can taste Stiles on Peter's tongue, thick and salty. Peter hums, sounding pleased. "You're next," he says. 

Chris raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Peter holds up the bottle of lube. Oh, right. He's getting fucked tonight.

It's not that he forgot, he just got caught up in the moment with Stiles, and thoughts of other things they'd be doing flew right away. "Do you want me to…?"

Peter makes a little noise. "Only if you rather. I'd love to prepare you myself."

"He's really good with his hands." Stiles still sounds orgasm-stupid, but it seems to be wearing off.

"How do you want to do it?" Chris asks.

Instead of telling him, Peter nudges Chris closer to Stiles, until there's no choice but to straddle him. Then Peter pushes him down so that Chris is looking right into Stiles's smiling face and his ass is up in the air. 

"Hey, you," Stiles says, and wraps his arms around Chris's neck. There's really nothing to do but kiss him, and Chris has no problem with that.

Power buzzes around them already. Stiles's orgasm set it off, and now Chris feels it pressing against his skin, electrifying every touch. Peter runs a slick finger over his hole and Chris gasps against Stiles's mouth.

Kissing Stiles while Peter slowly, carefully prepares Chris for cock is hotter than it has any right to be. Stiles moans and Chris's cock leaks precome onto his belly. Soon Chris is rocking back on Peter's fingers, gasping for more. 

"Nngh, can't wait to feel you inside me," Stiles says on another moan. "How do you want me?"

Chris runs his lips along his chin, his throat. "Whatever you want." But he knows he's going to have Peter behind him, inside him. "Though you should probably turn over."

"I was about to say that," Peter says. "How's everyone feeling about this?"

Stiles wriggles and then manages to flop himself over onto his belly while still in Chris's arms. "Green!"

Peter laughs and Chris relaxes even more. His cock is pressing against Stiles's ass. It's a damn fine ass. "I'm good," he says, and Peter rewards him with a kiss to his lower spine that makes a shiver run up his back.

Then there are hands on his hips, directing him, moving him subtly. He gets the idea and leans into Stiles to tease his hole with the head of his cock. Well, it's meant to be a tease, but Stiles is enthusiastic and greedy, so it's more like Chris getting the head of his cock sucked into Stiles's hole.

"Fuck, whoa, that's thick," Stiles gasps, and wriggles around for more. 

"Give it to him, Christopher," Peter says with a purr.

"Yeah Chris, c'mon," Stiles whines. "It's not fair to keep that all to yourself."

Chris hangs his head and smiles. He can't seem to wipe that damn smile off his face now. Then he pushes in and there's tight heat gripping him and he forgets everything else. He makes a sound, he's not sure what, but he hears Peter behind him saying something good. Something like praise. For Stiles, maybe. He's not sure.

And then Peter says, "Are you ready, Christopher?" in another purr, and Chris is reminded he's not just fucking tonight. Peter's right there, ready for the go-ahead. Explicit consent.

Chris nods and looks over his shoulder, sees Peter waiting for him, holding himself back.

Peter slides his hands up and down Chris's thighs, then scoots up close so he can start to press in. He's much bigger than his fingers were, but nothing goes over the line between uncomfortable and painful. And then he's inside, stretching Chris in ways he hasn't been stretched in years. It's good. 

"Don't forget me," Stiles says, clenching his ass around Chris's cock.

Chris and Peter chuckle together, and then somehow, miraculously, they start to move together. It's not right at first, they need to stop and start over a few times. But once Chris decides to trust Peter to direct him, it goes much smoother. Then Chris is caught, perfectly, between one man and another, filling and being filled.

"Jerk him off," Peter whispers in Chris's ear. "Make him feel good."

But Chris doesn't want to yet. He wants to find the right angle, he wants to… 

"Oh! Fuck!" Stiles exclaims.

Chris wants to hit that spot, and he does. Behind him, Peter murmurs something unintelligible. 

"Don't forget, you have to come last," Peter tells him.

Oh, right. Chris almost forgot they were fucking with purpose. He nods to show he understands, then takes a deep breath. He reaches around to Stiles's cock and is surprised by how wet he is already. Dripping precome, and it makes it so slick and good for Stiles when Chris starts stroking him. 

Stiles jerks and moans, nearly upsetting their rhythm but not quite. "Fuck!" And then he whimpers and sounds close to sobbing. He shouldn't have been able to come again so soon, but he is, spurting out over Chris's hand. The magical pressure in the room increases.

"Good boy." Peter grips Chris's hips tightly as he begins to fuck him harder.

"Nmph." Stiles wriggles more so that Chris slips out of him. Chris doesn't whine at the loss, but it's a near thing.

"It's okay, Christopher," Peter says, though his voice is strained. He's getting there himself. "I'll take care of you."

The magic in the room feels like a living thing now. It pulses like a heartbeat and presses against Chris's skin like it wants him to do something with it. He's glad he knows what it is, or he'd be so freaked out right now.

He feels a kiss on his shoulder blade, and then Peter starts to fuck him harder. He hits his prostate and…

"If you need to come next, stop being so good," Chris mutters. He's not sure if that even makes sense. Peter closes his hand around Chris's dick, but not to stroke. He squeezes the base and holds off the mounting orgasm. Chris exhales and squeezes around Peter's cock. "C'mon."

Peter growls. It's hot and animalistic and full of something Chris can't name. It makes him shudder to hear it, makes a jolt of lust run down his spine. 

"God, Peter, don't make that sound when I can't come again," Stiles says. He twists around and kisses Chris's mouth. "You're doing so good. I know it's hard not to come with him fucking you."

"It's…" Chris starts to say, then can't finish because it's just too good. Then Peter suddenly stills, and Chris knows that he's come.

The magic in the room jumps higher. The candlelight dances, throwing shadows against the walls. The energy presses against Chris on all sides, everywhere, so that he can barely breathe. He hears someone say something, voices, but he can't understand the words. Then there's a hand at his cock, pulling, squeezing, stroking. Another at his ass, finding his prostate. 

The magic is almost too much. There are soothing sounds but it's not enough to actually…

God, he feels so good. He's reaching for his orgasm, he's climbing, and then suddenly it's spiraling out inside him and from him, physical and magical, and he blacks out.

* * *

He wakes up lying on a table in Peter's basement. He blinks, wonders for a moment what happened. And then it hits him — he's alive. He's in his body. Right?

He feels his heart, which is beating, and he's wearing the clothes he died in. He sits up slowly, because his head is pounding and swimming and he's not sure if making any sudden movements is a good idea. 

He feels like shit. Much worse than he did as a ghost. Which goes to show he really is alive, he guesses.

He swings his legs over the table and then hears footsteps coming down the stairs. He sees Stiles first, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. And behind him, Peter, wearing a burgundy robe that really does wonders for his skin.

"You're alive!" Stiles exclaims. "It worked!"

"How are you feeling?" Peter asks, helping him to his feet.

Chris sways a little and ends up leaning against Peter's side. "Like I'm hungover. Or maybe still a little drunk."

"It's the magic," Peter says. 

"You need a shower and some food, man," Stiles tells him. Then he says, "Wow. This is so awesome. We brought you back to life!"

Peter rolls his eyes but he's smiling. 

"I don't think I could do a shower," Chris says. "But maybe a bath?"

"You're in luck!" Stiles says. He leans in and gives Chris a kiss on the cheek. "Peter has the best bathtub; you'll love it."

When Stiles looks like he's about to turn away and go upstairs, Chris catches his hand. "Wait. C'mere." Stiles comes easily and Chris looks back and forth between the two men. "Thank you. You didn't have to do what you did for me, and I just… thank you."

Stiles laughs and Peter says, "Believe me, it was no hardship whatsoever."

"It really was great," Stiles says, "but next time, I think I'd rather take you out to dinner first. Maybe a movie."

Chris looks at Peter to see if he feels the same. Peter looks back at him fondly. "We really are interested, Christopher. But you've got other things to think about right now."

Chris thinks… bath. Food. And then jumps ahead to _Allison_. 

Peter nods like he spoke aloud. "I'll get you some clothes you can wear home."

* * *

By the time Peter drops him off at home, Chris is feeling much more like himself. He's clean and wearing clothes no one died in. 

He called ahead so he wouldn't freak Allison out too badly. She's waiting at the door. She sees him and makes a sound like a sob before she throws her arms around him and squeezes him tight.

"Dad." It's all she says for several minutes. They go inside and Allison keeps hugging him. Chris hugs back just as tight.

Finally, she speaks. "I'm so glad I didn't have to wait until March." She covers her mouth and laughs. "That's terrible. But… I'm just so glad you didn't move on. That you stayed for me."

"I couldn't leave you by yourself," Chris says. "I would have fought tooth and nail to get back to you, no matter what."

"You always said you can't fight death, but here you are."

"One day I'll die and stay dead," Chris says. "But this time around, it wasn't meant to be. Okay?"

Allison nods, tears in her eyes. "I tried to be strong. I thought… but then Peter Hale, how did he ever bring you back?"

"Maybe I'll tell you someday." Chris feels his face heat. "But let's just say Peter knew a way. And a grim reaper helped."

Allison shakes her head, but she doesn't push for more answers. "That sounds incredible, but I'll wait for explanations. All that matters is that you're here. You're home."

Chris hugs her again, and Allison holds on just as fiercely as he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment on your way out if you liked it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Postpone The Funeral](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12589004) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton), [SomethingIncorporeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingIncorporeal/pseuds/SomethingIncorporeal)




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